Minerva’s Lessons Chapter 1: The Lesson of Death For BigChris369 By Draconicon
The fires of her burning village leaped around her, but they offered no safety, no sanctuary, nothing but exposing light to the bandits that chased her. Minerva screamed as she tripped over a broken piece of someone’s hut, her knee scraped on the rough bits of wood, her skirt singed on the fire that crept along it. The little gryphon whimpered, scampering back to her feet, trying to get her claws under her again to try and keep moving. “Where’s that bitch? The boss wanted another whore for his bed tonight!” “She went that way!” They were after her. She didn’t know why. Didn’t understand what a whore was, didn’t understand what this boss wanted with her. She didn’t understand anything. She just knew that her mom and dad had told her to run, told her to run just before their throats were cut and everything went red. The fire and smoke around her made it hard to breathe, made her want to stop and rest, to clear her throat and cough up a lung, but she knew that she’d die if she did that. The bandits were angry now, angry that they had to chase her. They’d do something worse to her if she let them catch her now. She ducked through one of the burning buildings, throwing her head under the rippling flame on the canvas that served as a door. The earth floor hadn’t caught fire yet, but the old bar that was connected to the right wall had. It roared with consuming fire, blocking out the screams that still echoed through the village. Dead, dead, all dead. Everyone dead. Or dying. Except me. Minerva shivered, the six-year-old gryphon barely managing to keep moving. She crawled like one of the ferals she’d seen once, dragging herself across the floor, trying to keep herself below the level of the smoke. It was the only thing keeping her alive, the only thing that kept her out of sight of the bandits. If she got to her feet, they’d find her immediately. They were right behind her, too. She could see their boots at the doorway, could see up to their waists through the smoke. The little girl clicked her beak together, biting off a whimper that she could feel trying to get out of her throat. If she made a sound, they’d find her. If she made any sort of sound, they’d catch her and take her away and kill her and – She bit her finger, stopping the bad thoughts. Had to run. Had to run. She dragged herself through the back door, getting back to her feet and hoping that it was good enough. The little girl turned – “HA!” Minerva screamed as someone grabbed her by the arm. She was lifted right off the ground, her immature little wings flapping desperately for purchase, for escape. She lifted one leg, tried to kick, but the lizardman that had caught her grabbed her by the ankle, keeping her from landing any blows. He was a thick, heavy man, a brown-scaled beast that looked at her with a drooling tongue sticking out of his mouth. He licked his lips, grinning as he dragged his tail up and down along her chest, chuckling in his throat. “Oh, found you, now. Got ya…oh, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? Gonna make the boss real happy.” He leaned in, licking his tongue across her cheek, leaving her feathers and fur slimed down with his spit. “Heh, and maybe you’ll make the rest of us happy, too. Bet that’d make everyone happy to have a little cunt like you on our dicks.” The gryphon shuddered. She didn’t know what this language meant, didn’t know what the bandit wanted, but knew it would be bad for her. There was nothing here that was good, nobody here that was kind. She needed to get away. Get back. Get out. She shrieked, and something clicked inside of her. Something that tingled. Something that rushed out with heat and pain and fear – “What are you doing, you bitch? Stop screaming, stop –” Minerva wasn’t sure what she’d done, but when she screamed again, the brown lizard went stiff, his eyes rolling back in his head. His hands went loose, and he dropped her to the ground. She didn’t ask what had happened, didn’t wait to see what would happen after. She just ran, putting her feet to the earth and pushing off as fast as her legs would carry her. Whatever had happened, it tired her out. She stumbled after the first few steps, and only raw fear kept her moving forward as exhaustion settled in. The gryphon kept running, yes, but it was harder, harder than it should have been. She managed to cover a few hundred feet before more bandits found her, more cruel things. Dogs, wolves, foxes, all sorts of creatures that had gathered under the flag of this monster. They were…they were right on her butt now, following her, chasing her. And they were catching up. Minerva reached one of the buildings near the village gate, but she couldn’t run any further. She slumped down against the side of it, panting for breath, running her hand along the gate itself. There was a lever, a catch, and it would open. She tried… She tried so hard, but she couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there. Or it wasn’t where she thought it was. Or it had disappeared. Whatever had happened, it meant that she was trapped. She turned, looking back the way she’d come. Six men, six horrible men in various states of undress were walking towards her. Some were shirtless, others were fiddling with the breachclothes, others still were working at the ties along their belts to get them off. They’re gonna…gonna… She remembered seeing through one door what had happened to another woman. Seen the bird of paradise screaming as she was penetrated down between her legs, seen the pain in her eyes of what had happened to her. What would be happening to the gryphon in short order. The tingles came again, and Minerva grabbed at them desperately. Something, anything. She shrieked. This time, she saw the wave that came from her beak, saw the ripples in the air. Two of the men, a fox and a dog, hit the dirt, covering their ears. The others, however, pushed forward, chuckling to themselves. “Heh, what’s that? Some sort of spell?” one of the wolves asked. “Gonna have to do better than that if you wanna keep that virginity, girly.” Virginity. Another word she didn’t know, but she knew that it was something precious. Her mother had always talked about keeping it, saving it. Minerva whimpered, trying to pull her arms up in fists, like the boys she’d seen in the streets, but she was tired. So tired. Even fear wasn’t enough to keep her moving anymore. She could hardly see, her vision blurring as she wobbled from side to side, the wall behind her the only thing keeping her from falling over. “Heh, we don’t even have to fight this one. She’s gonna fall over any second now.” “Then don’t fight her.” It was a new voice. A new sound, coming from above her. Slowly, just as slowly as her attackers, Minerva tilted her head up to look. A blue shape sheathed in the darkness of the flames and smoke crouched on top of the gate. He was thick-shouldered, thick in the limb and heavy in muscle. A glint of fire off metal appeared in the shadows as he unsheathed a pair of swords. “Fight me.” “Who the fuck –” The fox didn’t get the chance to finish his question before his head hit the ground. The rest of his body followed after, hitting a very different place. The decapitation of one of their number sent the bandits into a frenzy, all of them screaming and flailing and swinging their weapons wildly. Not one of them managed to maintain any discipline, and they were all paying the price for it. Minerva watched in blurry horror as the bandits were cut down one by one. The swinging blades of the thugs had nothing on the sheer talent of the man that had jumped down to save her. He was there, then not there, ducking under swings that had killed everyone in the village and then stabbing back. He was a ghost, a scaly ghost that was always where one least expected him to be. The gryphon’s body was slowly losing its ability to stand, and she gradually slumped down against the wooden gate. She knew that she should be trying to find a way to open it, to grab the gate and pull it open so that she could flee, but her body was too weak. Too much smoke, too much damage during the running. Gonna die…gonna die… Not from swords, but from fire. It was creeping down against her back, almost taking her already. Her feathers and fur were singed, growing more damaged by the flames with each passing second. And she didn’t care. She didn’t care anymore, not when there was a chance of seeing the people that killed her parents die. No matter how much she had been hurt in the past, the little girl had never had this hate for someone before. Nobody that punched her, that had hurt her, thrown her against a wall, even, had been the recipient for this much hate. But after seeing what they had done to her mom and dad, after seeing the blood, the red, the pain… The gryphon saw their blood as an insufficient payment. They were not getting hurt nearly as much as her mom and dad had been, and that wasn’t fair. She wanted to scream at the guy that had saved her. Wanted him to hurt them more, beg him to torture them, to hurt them, to rip their arms off and make them scream for all the bad things that they’d done. But all she could do was squeak. All she could do was whimper. All she could do was watch and take what little bit of vengeance she could from staring at them and seeing what they were suffering. It was better than nothing, but not by much. As Minerva’s eyes finally closed, she had the pleasure of seeing the dog that had stabbed her mother through the throat hit the ground. She heard, vaguely, footsteps coming towards her, but whatever happened next, she never found out. # A year passed, and in the year between her sixth and seventh birthdays, Minerva learned a lot about the world. She learned how it worked, what people wanted, what they expected when they gave you help. She learned that most people were not kind, that anyone that didn’t know her would expect the world if they were going to give her a pebble. And they are the nice ones, the little girl thought as she walked through the market square. She didn’t know the name of this village. It was no different than the last three villages that she’d passed through. No different, save for the caravan that had taken up shop in this one. The caravan was where she needed to be. She felt that, felt it in her bones, felt it the same way that she had felt the magic way back when her village had burned. She hadn’t known it was magic at the time, of course. Nobody had told her, but she had figured it out when she learned how to channel her shrieks into stunning things that knocked down prey and stopped the smaller bandits from chasing her. The guards weren’t so susceptible to it, but it sometimes worked on them. Sometimes. But she needed more, and she’d heard this caravan would give her that. The gryphon walked up to one of the wagons, waited in the background as the man that owned it – some sort of badger – made bargains with someone else over potions and ingredients. She kept her hands behind her back, remembering what little she learned about showing respect. Most people didn’t want to teach her, but she’d picked it up while watching servants of richer people while they were traveling. It wasn’t much, but she hoped it would make an impression. When the old man concluded his business, he turned to her. He started to look away, then paused, looking back. After a moment or two, he gestured, curling his finger and calling her forward. Happily following the command, the little girl bowed her head. “Sorry for bothering you,” she said with a chirpiness that she didn’t feel. “I wanted to ask you a favor.” “You have magic, little girl.” He’d already sensed it. That made things a little bit easier. “I do.” “Then you need a teacher.” “I was hoping…” “Me?” The badger blinked. She had obviously surprised him. That was good. Surprise meant that she could work a bit more, could do more before they made up their mind with what to do with her. Minerva bowed before him, laying out her case. “I am a homeless girl. I haven’t had a home for over a year. It was destroyed by bandits, and I…I need to learn. I need to be better. I need…” She was stuttering, pausing. She needed to speak clearly, not…not like that. The gryphon swallowed, forcing down the clenching in her throat, the pain in her head. “I need to be strong enough to never go through that again. I want to make sure that nobody can hurt me, or anyone around me, again.” “And you think I can teach you?” “I heard there was a mage in your caravan. If it’s not you…” “Don’t worry. It is me. I’m just…surprised.” He was looking her over, his eyes flicking along her body. She remembered that feeling, remembered how the bandits had done something so much worse than that. While the badger wasn’t so rough with his eyes, she knew the same hunger was in him as had been in them. If she gave him an inch, he would take everything. She would have to make sure to never give him reason to reach out for her. “Alright. Let’s see what you can do. Come in my wagon, and we’ll talk terms.” “I have a better idea. Let’s do it here. The show. Let’s do the show right here.” “…” “It’ll bring you customers. People like magic. Some of them. Enough of them.” Not all of them. Some of them thought you were a witch, thought that you were scary and needed to be burned. She learned how to run away from those people very, very quickly, but she didn’t think that this badger was. Eventually, he nodded. “Alright. We’ll do it here. But you better be good enough to earn this, girl. I don’t want to take on dead weight.” “I’ll be good enough.” # And she was. Five years of training later, going from her seventh year to her twelfth, she learned magic at a rate that would have astonished other people, according to Master Sandal. The badger was quick to teach her whatever tricks he could, and there were many times when he attempted to play on gratitude to get her into his wagon, but she never fell for it. It was never enough for her to give up what she still had. Her virginity. It was a tool that she could use to trade on the kindness of others. A thing that she could sell if she absolutely had to. She needed to preserve it, though not for the reasons that her mother had always told her. It was a warm evening as she sat on the edge of one of the wagons, looking down the road that they had traveled. Many things had happened in the last few years, particularly since Master Sandal had allowed her to create her own staff. Create it, but not use it unless he’s around, she thought, looking back at the badger’s wagon. I made it. I should be able to keep it. But she knew that the badger kept it from her because he was afraid. Afraid that she would leave as soon as he had no more tricks to teach her, afraid that she might turn it on him if he made the offer of a night with him in the wrong way. And he wasn’t entirely wrong. There had been several times when she’d been tempted to take her knife and jab it into one of his kidneys for trying to ‘seduce’ her, as if she didn’t know what he wanted from her. It was…painful, thinking of the fact that there were no kind people in the world, that there were only monsters that wanted to take her and use her. But it was a pain that she’d learned to live with. There were people out there that were bad, and there were people out there that were worse. If she could keep to the former, then she could deal with the latter. And her magic was getting stronger. Much, much stronger. She’d proved that just a few days ago when they had practiced in a field and she had set a few trees on fire with nothing more than a gesture. When she eventually found the bandits that had destroyed her village, when she could track them down… The gryphon’s fingers clenched into tight little fists at the thought. They were going to die. They were going to die a lot. “Girl.” That was Master Sandal. She turned, looking down at the badger walking up the path. “Yes, Master?” “You’re going to sleep in Jon’s tent tonight.” She blinked, an eyebrow going up. Jon was one of the members of the caravan that hadn’t reached out for her in any sexual way. Something about not being interested in girls, or something like that. She had always been safe around the gentle giant, the big bull always giving her a bit of space to be safe for a while. She was sure he had his own horrible natures, but she hadn’t seen them. She just knew that everyone was horrible somewhere. “Why?” “Just…have a feeling. I’ve been hearing rumors about someone on the road that we might run into, and I don’t want you out in the open.” “Someone bad?” “Someone that might be bad.” “I should –” “You are not getting your staff.” The badger leaned on his own, the wooden staff covered in different runes and sigils. She hadn’t seen it until the day that she had earned her apprenticeship with him, near her eighth birthday. He had brought it out as proof that he deserved to be her mage master, and he had been right…right enough to knock her down with it, at least. Ever since then, he had kept it in easy reach whenever they traveled. Maybe he feared her more than he said, or maybe he thought that he needed to keep proving himself. Whatever the reason, it meant that they were never on equal ground, and he seemed to prefer it that way. “You’re going to stay on the outskirts, and you aren’t going to show yourself unless I tell you to. There is nothing that you can do, anyway, apprentice.” “I’m better than most anybody else here.” “And I don’t want anyone else to see you. If they see you…” He didn’t finish the sentence, and she honestly didn’t know what he was worried about. He didn’t care for her, that much was clear; he was fulfilling an obligation that he had made to teach her, something that he had sworn to do if she had shown enough talent with magic. When he couldn’t get out of it, he had still fulfilled his duties. But he had been…distant lately. When she’d turned twelve, it was like he didn’t try and pull her into his wagon as often. Oh, he still did, but not as often as he once had. And he had been in contact with more other merchants, lately. She was waiting for a backstab, but she didn’t know where it was going to come from. She just knew that her time with Master Sandal was limited. “Fine. I’ll do what you say.” “Good. Pick up your stuff. We’re making camp here.” The gryphon stood up, her brown robe fluttering about her. The little holes in the back of her robe for her wings jostled about, rubbing against the base of her little limbs with some discomfort before she was able to adjust things properly. She carried a chest and several tools with her to the edge of the budding camp, finding the big brown bull chopping wood. He was shirtless as ever, posing whenever one of the other caravan members passed by, only to hmmph and go back to chopping wood when nobody did anything but look. Minerva smiled slightly despite herself. “Still trying to prove you’re the strongest?” “Hey, Minerva,” he said, shaking his head. “Nah, just showing off.” “Showing off everything.” “Everything that I can get away with.” “Sandal said that I had to stay in your tent tonight.” “What?!” The bull stopped in mid-chop, and the axe-head went flying through the air, embedding itself in the side of one of the wagons. There was a delayed scream after that, leaving the air split with the sound of people shouting and panicking. Jon didn’t notice any of that. He just turned to look at her. “Are you kidding me?” “Nope.” “Man…there goes my night.” “Oh, thanks a lot.” “Not because of you – well, kinda, but – that’s not the point.” The bull shook his head, getting all flustered. He was always so strange compared to the other men. More open, more showy, pushing his body all the time but never at the other women. She wondered, some days, if he was interested in women at all. She sat down on the stump after he cleared his wood pile off of it, shaking her head as she put her feet up on her chest. “Then what is the problem?” “If he’s having you stay with me, that means he’s worried about an attack.” “Why would he worry about that? We’re just traders.” “Yeah, but not all of us have a good past.” “…What do you mean?” She’d heard about something like that several times. It was never more than a very vague nod and shiver, something of a suppressed memory for most of them, but she had seen the way that people stopped talking about the past whenever she was around. Not all of the caravaneers, but enough of them. They stopped talking whenever she might hear. Jon shook his head. “No.” “Jon –” “Sorry, Min, but if Sandal’s not talking, I’m not talking. That’s just the rules.” “Fuck the rules.” “Language, girl. Let’s get the tent set up.” “Ugh…” Nevertheless, she hopped down and helped in whatever way she could. It wasn’t much, considering the bull’s sheer bulk, but she did what she could, setting up her bedding before sliding into the tent. He better tell me tomorrow, at least. # Blood woke her, blood in a place where it shouldn’t have been. The gryphon felt it against her back, and she turned to look over her shoulder. It took her three seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and two more to see that Jon was dead. He’d been stabbed through the back in the night, his blood oozing out through a hole in his chest onto her back. “Jon…no…” She rolled over, panting already. “No, no, no, no…” She pulled at his body, shoving him on his back. The blood had already stained and crusted through his fur, but she could see the hole in his chest, see the damage that had already spread all the way across his middle. He had been stabbed by a sword, not a dagger, and it had gone straight through his heart. Sawed back and forth, cutting the lungs so that the air couldn’t come out in a scream. It was cruel. A very cruel death. Shaking already, Minerva dragged herself to the tent opening, terrified of what she’d see if she opened the flap, but knowing she had to. There were soft sounds out there, sounds that would have been almost normal if one didn’t know what to listen for. Cut-off gasps. Screams cut off so fast that they sounded like bird calls. The soft crackle of something catching fire. No, no, not the village again. This isn’t the village. Not home. No family. Nothing like that. She threw open the flap. For a moment, for a split second, the village of her past and the camp of her present were one and the same. She saw the people that she’d come to know running around, and saw her old village family and friends running in their place. She saw tents catching fire, and saw the infernos of the buildings of her childhood. It took the blast of magic across her field of view to break her of the memory, to see it as it was. Dead bodies on the ground, but not so many as in the village. And no army of bandits. Just…one man. One blue-scaled man. Clubs, spears, and improvised weapons that she’d never seen before came out of the tents, but they were no defense against this stranger. He blocked and parried any blow that came his way, ducking and dodging around the best fighters and the strongest men that the caravan had to offer. Whenever someone came in reach of his twin blades, they died. Guts spilled over the ground, blood filled the air, and the stink of the dead continued to rise around her. Her breath came faster, harder, her fear and anger rising in equal levels. She embraced the latter, running out screaming. “No! Not again! Not again!” The blue-scaled man turned to face her, but before he could say anything, lightning filled the sky. He turned again, and she saw him facing Master Sandal. The badger stood atop one of the wagons, wielding his staff, collecting the lightning along the tip. “Face me, monster! You will take no more!” There was no response from the stranger, only a charge that rivaled a horse in speed. Minerva was too far behind, too far away to intervene. The lightning struck from sky and staff, and the monster dodged left and right, his head low and his arms at his sides. Several times, she swore that the lightning had struck him, had knocked him back, but he kept on coming. He climbed the edge of the wagon, swinging one blade, and Sandal brought his staff down to block. An explosion filled the air, knocking both badger and monster apart, throwing them to opposite sides of the wagon. The badger groaned as he hit the ground, the lightning flying back to the sky. My staff…if I can get my staff… Magic was the only thing that seemed to affect the monster. He was unstoppable up close, but if she could get her magic – Fire burns. I’ll burn him. I’ll burn him and everything else…he can’t…he can’t take this from me… He had taken Jon, the only maybe-not-monster in the whole caravan. He had taken everyone else. He had taken what made her safe, what gave her the chance to fight back again. If he took Sandal, any chance of her learning her power, of getting somewhere where she could continue learning, would be gone. The gryphon ran for the badger’s wagon, screaming at the door. The sound shattered the wood, breaking it into splinters, and she ripped the door off its broken hinges. Still panting, shaking like a leaf, she ducked inside, throwing the badger’s mattress away and pulling her staff out from under it. Dark oak, it was banded in iron – iron that Jon had cast – around the top and bottom. She’d carved the runes into it with a silver knife, under the full moon, and she could feel the power that resided in it. There was so much there, so much that she had stored away, squirreled into it from forest and field, from star and earth, from campfire and her own mind. It was a pool of hate and fear and everything that she held onto in the middle of the night to keep herself sane. And now, she was going to use it to save herself and her teacher. She used it to pull herself from the wagon, stood on the driver’s seat…and watched as the blue-scaled man stabbed his blades through the neck of her mentor. “No…” The word was little more than a breath from her lips. No grief, no attachment. Some hate that she had not been the one to punish him for his lusts, for what he wanted from her. But more, so much more hate for the stranger for taking her chance for vengeance from her. He stood up slowly, flicking his swords to the side to shed the blood from the metal. Magic works, she thought, staring at him. He got hurt…a bit, at least. More than…more than with swords… But even now, the burns and scars along his chest and arms were starting to heal, the wounds closing, the pain obviously fading. The blue-scaled man turned to leave – “RAAAAAAH!” Minerva screamed as she pointed her staff at him. In her rage, she missed, the flames she summoned sprouting from the ground a foot to his left. It made him jump, and he turned, charging her already. She pulled her staff from left to right, swinging her flames as she went, but he was always moving, always charging, always dodging. Then, he was there, and darkness followed.
